In Transit
by Silvestria
Summary: Written in response to a prompt for "modern war injured Matthew". Descends rapidly from the heights of drama and misery to fluff and innuendo - so something for everyone!


_A/N: The first part of this was originally written on tumblr in response to a prompt for modern war injured Matthew. I then got prompts for sequels so two more parts were written one after another - and it seemed like a good idea to put it on here! And I thought I'd add a fourth part to conclude it. :) _

_So I hope you enjoy it! It's not meant to be, uh, entirely realistic. I mean, I've never been to Dubai airport for a start! N.B. This modern AU has no connection to University Challenge._

* * *

Flies buzzed in the heat and Mary wrinkled her nose at the smell as she pushed back the curtain. Fresh and cool in a linen dress, wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, she was out of place in this squalid, impoverished village hospital, filled with the sick and dying. In fact she was horrified. She had never seen anything like it before. She felt almost ashamed of her privilege, her colour, her clothes, and the mission she was here to perform, but such reflections would contribute nothing.

Thanking the nurse with a tight smile and nod who was pointing her to the right bed, she crossed the room, her sandals slapping on the earth floor.

He was asleep on the bed, or at least his eyes were closed. Mary was glad; it gave her a moment to take him in and control her reaction. For a second she stiffened and her eyes widened. It was unpleasant, seeing him like this. Then she pulled herself together and touching his wrist very lightly where it lay above the sheet, murmured, "Matthew."

His eyes opened immediately, staring in shock and confusion, and he opened his mouth. His throat moved but no sound came out. He glanced across to the little wooden table where there was a glass of water. Mary did not trust it, however, and handed him her bottle of mineral water from the airport. He drank several gulps of it before swallowing and managing to speak.

"Why – why are you here?"

Mary pursed her lips. "To see you, of course."

His throat worked again. "You came all the way out here to see me."

"Well, I thought I'd have a little holiday while I was -" Her eyes dropped. "Yes."

He was silent and after a moment she sat down gingerly on the side of the bed, looking down at him sympathetically.

"We broke up," he said eventually. "A long time ago. I came here."

"It's worked out well for you then," she replied, forcing a light and encouraging tone. "Since you ended up getting shot."

He didn't see the funny side. "Clearly."

Mary dared to clasp his hand and lean forwards to speak more intimately to him. "Look, Matthew, this is far from ideal. I've arranged for you to come to the city. We might not be able to fly you home yet but we can get you to a proper hospital at least."

"Oh no you won't!"

"Matthew!"

"It wouldn't be fair. Look at all of these poor fellows. What's good enough for them is good enough for me." Whatever he thought, however, he was clasping her hand back for dear life.

"Not according to my father. He wants you back in one piece," replied Mary evenly.

"Really?" His lip trembled. "He - cares?"

Mary turned her head away and rolled her eyes. "Of course he does; don't be ridiculous."

He caught her gaze and held it and for a moment she forgot the smell and the buzzing and the foreign chatter in the background as her heart raced and warmth enveloped her. He asked the question and she answered it, no words necessary.

Squeezing his hand again, Mary stood up. "I'm afraid you don't have much say in the matter. There's an ambulance outside and if you don't want to come, well, I'd like to see you resist in your current state!"

"I wouldn't be very effective, I'm afraid, darling," he replied mournfully, the endearment falling naturally from his lips.

Her heart leapt again and she felt a pricking behind her eyes. "Never mind. You can complain as much as you like later. I have to-"

He pressed his lips into a smile and waved her away. "Of course."

"I'll be back once we're all ready for you. Don't worry about anything."

"I'll try..."

She was glad to turn her back on him then, for the last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry.

* * *

Mary had never been so glad to leave a place. It was so close (relatively speaking) to her dream vacation spot of Mauritius but it had never felt so far away. ___Home _had never felt so far away either, in this dusty, sweltering, noisy, impoverished, endlessly alien land. And yet - and this was the strange part - she was not as homesick as she had thought she might be. Oh, the hotel was dreadful, it was true. It might be the best that money could buy but it was nevertheless a dreary, cold, anonymous place tarted up in 70s luxury. She would pace up and down her vast, empty room and watch re-runs of dubbed American soap operas on a crackling TV, feeling utterly wretched in the heat. But then - day would come and she would be out and there would be things to buy and things to see - and Matthew. Home suddenly seemed a little closer after all.

Matthew was holed up in the main hospital, getting stronger every time she saw him. She knew he was getting stronger because he complained more. He scowled at her, wished she would go away, and even talked nonsense about returning to the war zone. She smiled through it all because it meant he was getting better and because she couldn't help it. Every day she brought him fresh fruit, bizarre local delicacies and weird and wonderful tokens from the local markets. He gave them funny looks, declared that he had no intention of accepting gifts from her, but when she came back the next day the food had always all been eaten and the trinkets were lined up, grouped as if they told a story, on the window ledge by his bed.

But the day had finally come to leave, for Matthew's injury had healed well enough for him to travel, though he was still reliant on a wheelchair and consequently on her. Plane tickets had been bought whether Matthew liked it or not and now, after a silent taxi ride to the airport and an uncomfortable queue at customs, she was wheeling him towards the gate. Whether he liked it or not.

"Don't your arms ache?" he asked after a while, his tone on the sulky side of bland.

"Not as much as they would have done two weeks ago," she replied cheerfully and wheeled him into the duty free shop.

Matthew groaned at the rows of gaudily wrapped chocolate and alcohol. "This is hell," he muttered. "I hate these places."

Unseen, Mary grinned. "Hell? ___Really_, dear? Oh - perfume!"

"Oh, for-"

There was nothing he could do about it and then a sweet, floral scent assailed his nostrils and his stomach turned over as a rush of memories washed over him.

"God, Mary, do you have to?" he muttered, his voice low and intense, as he twisted in the wheelchair to see her sniffing the sample bottle of a very familiar perfume, tendrils of her hair falling round her face and concealing the label.

She looked up, straight at him. "I used to wear this one all the time. I'd forgotten…"

"I hadn't."

Her eyebrows contracted and for a moment she was the helpless one instead of him. Then she moved her head sharply away and delicately sprayed her exposed neck. Matthew hardly breathed and hated himself for his weakness.

"I think I'll buy it," she stated, glancing at the price and not caring whatever it said. She smiled a self-possessed smile that Matthew knew meant exactly the reverse and resumed her pushing.

Matthew gripped the handles of the wheelchair, staring unseeingly at the shiny floor as they approached the checkout.

He heard Mary say, "Just this please", heard the cashier reply, and before he could make any conscious decision, he had sat up straight and laid a hand on Mary's arm to prevent her from taking her purse out of her handbag.

"I'll get this," he said firmly.

"Matthew!" she gasped and then lowered her voice. "It isn't your place to buy me something like this."

But this time he held her gaze with determination, lowering his eyes to hers. "Isn't it?"

"Not any more…" but her voice faltered and ended on a question.

The cashier coughed.

"Mary, let me," he insisted. "We can fight about it on the flight if you really want to."

Her lips twitched even though there was something almost painful in her expression. "Alright," she whispered. "If you want."

Matthew nodded, respecting her emotion - a beat passed, and then he sighed in frustration. "Can you pass me my wallet?"

So much for paying for it himself.

* * *

Matthew had never travelled first class before and, even as he felt all his socialist principles rise up in revolt at the prospect, he had to admit that in his current state he was very grateful for Lord Grantham's money and the luxury of his seat. Two hostesses helped him out of his wheelchair and into his place, Mary hovering anxiously behind them, clutching their shared hold-all.

"There you go, sir," smiled one of the hostesses. "How do you feel?"

"Uh, fine, thanks," replied Matthew, wishing they would just leave him alone.

"And your seat is just here, Mrs. Crawley," said the other hostess, indicating another massive expanse of armchair, gleaming table and TV screen, separated from Matthew's by a small elevated ledge.

Mary's eyes jumped to Matthew's and for a second she panicked. Then she replied smoothly, just as she always had done, "It's Lady actually, not Mrs. We're not - we're not married."

Matthew began to breathe again as the hostess replied, smile still perfectly intact, "Lady Crawley. My apologies. Please have a good flight."

Mary rolled her eyes and met Matthew's as she sat down. "People are so unimaginative," she huffed. "You could always be my brother."

"Your brother?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Why not."

She pulled out the in-flight magazine and began to flick through it. Matthew watched her for a moment, a fond expression on his face, before he realised what he was doing and quickly turned his attention to the various remote controls provided to operate all the electronic gadgetry on offer in first class.

Considering Matthew's injury the flight went smoothly. There was no turbulence, the films on offer were decent, and Matthew and Mary had soon settled back into the comfortable companionship that had once characterised their five year long relationship. The only difference was the consciousness that crept up on both of them every now and then that things were very different between now. She teased him and called him ___darling_, he griped at her in return but would then take her hand where it lay between them and thread their fingers together, an action that she allowed without question, but in the end what right did they have to these intimacies? Why, Matthew realised with a jolt at one point when Mary had drifted off to sleep, he knew nothing about her life at the moment. She could even have found someone else. He glanced over at her, curled into her seat, a faint smile on her relaxed face, her fingers dangling temptingly near his.

No, there was no-one else.

It was a good thing that they had managed to rest in this first flight because once they had touched down in Dubai they were greeted with the news that their connecting flight to London had been cancelled due to engine trouble. With luck they would be able to fly out the following day. This was a blow, but even Mary refrained from shooting the messenger, however frustrating it was. Instead, she gritted her teeth, dumped the hold-all onto Matthew's lap and began to push him in the direction of the hotel allocated to them by the airline.

They had to wait in line behind other travellers and by the time they reached reception, Mary had reached snapping point. Matthew only wished he could help but as he couldn't even see over the desk from his wheelchair all he could do was touch Mary's arm at the last minute in a restraining way and plead with her with his eyes. She smiled faintly back.

Handing over their tickets, she announced crisply, "We need a ground floor room with twin beds."

"Mary!" exclaimed Matthew, tugging on her sleeve. "Two rooms, please!"

She shook him free. "You can't walk. Of course if you want to spend the night stuck in that chair then that's-"

"Excuse me, are you two married?" interrupted the hotel receptionist.

Mary's jaw fell, and then a look of obstinacy crossed her face. "Give me your passport, Matthew."

"But-"

"Just do it."

He knew Mary in this mood and with a bit of discomfort extracted his passport from his pocket and handed it to her. She slapped it down on the counter next to hers.

"See? Matthew Crawley. Mary Crawley. Now, will you please give us a room? My husband is unwell."

She did not meet his eyes or speak again for all the time until they were left alone in their room.

Then, rather gracelessly, leaving Matthew's chair in the middle of the room and him still in it, she relieved him of the bag, dumped it on the further bed and pulled out her regulation clear plastic bag of mini-toiletries, turning her back on him to go to the bathroom.

"Mary," he said in a low voice.

She spun round, her face a frigid mask of offended surprise.

"___My husband is unwell_. You wouldn't have said those words three years ago."

"Three years is a long time." She turned away again.

"Not that long," he countered her, arresting her progress again. "If you'd been willing to say them then perhaps-"

She heaved a sigh that somehow seemed to encompass her entire body. "We're thousands of miles from home, you're in a wheelchair, and you want to talk ancient history? I'm not in the mood."

Every muscle in her body ached, from pushing him mostly (though she would never say so) but also from sleeping for not enough time in an uncomfortable position on the plane. What time was it anyway? She really had no idea. Judging from how hungry she was, probably nearly dinner time, but she hadn't been listening when they had been given the local time on the plane. The neatly made up, fresh, hotel bed had never seemed so tempting. She disappeared into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, allowing her face to crumple for a moment and her body to sag. She heaved a few deep breaths, before pulling herself together again. She touched up her make-up, combed her hair, drank a glass of water before returning to Matthew, a fresh smile in place.

He had wheeled himself round to her bed and was in the process of rummaging in the bag for his necessaries. He looked up and smiled at her when she came back out.

"I'm sorry, Mary." He reached out to her and wordlessly she went to him and perched on the edge of the bed. "You're right; rehashing old arguments isn't productive but please, my dear, don't you think we have anything to talk about?"

"Well then." She hesitated. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I want…" He licked his lips, glanced down, and then resolutely met her eyes again. "I want to talk about not seeing you for three years, not even hearing from you, and then waking up in that God-forsaken hospital and seeing your face. I want to talk about wooden trinkets and perfume and letting that woman believe I was your husband. Let me remind you: three years ago, if someone had made that assumption you would have-"

She held up a hand to stop him, her eyes pressing closed for a moment. "I missed you, Matthew." The words sounded dragged out of her with great effort. "The moment after you left I missed you. The way I loved you - it's not easy to get over that."

Matthew swallowed. "So you admit you made a mistake?" His voice sounded lower somehow and the silence of the rest of the room suddenly rang so much louder in their ears. Mary shivered.

"No." She looked directly at him. "You made a mistake asking me when you knew that we were on opposite ends of the ideological spectrum and then being offended when I said no. But-" Her expression softened slightly. "Ideology makes a dull partner, at least so I've found."

They looked at each other for a long time in silence. Then Matthew reached out and took her hand. He looked at it intensely, taking in the faint shadow of blue veins in her unmarked, clear skin. Then he raised his eyes to her face again. She was watching him warily.

"I'm thirty-four, Mary," he said quietly. "I've always - well, you broke my heart, but that wouldn't matter, if you wanted- What I suppose I mean is that there comes a time in a man's life when enough is enough, and any relationship he has is going to be…"

He didn't finish his sentence for Mary had stood up, with a little tug on his hand. He looked at her anxiously but all she did was lean over him, cup his cheek with her steady, cool hand and press her lips firmly to his. She was warm and sweet and he felt he could almost taste the scent of her familiar perfume. Her fingers stroked along his cheek into his hair line, as he kissed her back, tentatively at first until memory came flooding back and he gasped as heat flooded his body.

She pulled away and he opened his eyes slowly to meet hers as she sat back down on the bed. She was smiling at him so gently and affectionately.

"You do know what I'm saying, Mary?" he said once he was able to speak.

She nodded once, her lips curving up even more. "Yes."

"Yes?"

She rolled her eyes. "For goodness sake, darling!"

Some strange combination of relief, disbelief, and joy was released as irritability in him. "Well, I'm sorry if it takes me a moment to process this sudden development."

She kissed him again, more deeply than before. Matthew cursed his immobility that prevented him for taking her fully in his arms as he wished. Eventually they pulled apart, his hands falling reluctantly from where he had embraced her, and she stood up, smoothing out her dress.

"Well, shall we go out?"

"Out? Oh, you mean food. If you like." He would be quite happy with room service but if Mary wanted - oh, what was the point? He would go where she wheeled him.

She leaned down and kissed him on the nose. "Among other things."

"Other things?"

She replied off-hand as she picked up her handbag and checked its contents. "Oh, I suppose we won't have time to get a license from the embassy to do it properly, but we wouldn't want anyone else to make any unfortunate mistakes, would we?"

He blinked at her, his stomach lurching. She just smirked at him and waggled her left hand at him.

"It's a shame you insisted on buying the perfume really," she continued airily, opening the door and forcing Matthew to wheel himself across the room. "I feel this is going to be an expensive few days for you."

"I think," he replied, taking a large breath, after a moment of mental adjustment, "that I shall manage it."

* * *

"You see, I lost my wedding ring," explained Mary with a deeply melancholy expression to an assistant in the fourth jeweller's they had been to.

"She flushed it away by accident when cleaning the toilet," added Matthew with a sad shake of his head.

Mary turned to him with a look of disgust on her face. He shrugged slightly and she returned the full force of her gaze to the shop assistant. "It was twenty-four carat gold," she said sweetly as Matthew gulped.

The poor assistant looked between them as if suspecting a joke but not daring to laugh in case she got it wrong. "Well, perhaps Madam would like to look at our high end range of rings over here..."

"Certainly!" Mary sashayed across the room with her, leaving Matthew to fend for himself. He followed more slowly.

Ten minutes later they left the shop still empty handed. Mary wheeled him over to some seats before, out of view, they collapsed into immoderate laughter. She leaned over the arm of his chair and he wrapped his arm as far round her shoulders as he could, his fingers tangling into her hair.

Eventually, Mary raised her head, eyes shining, to meet his. "Cleaning the toilet? You couldn't be more vulgar if you tried!"

He grinned helplessly at her. "You said before it was stolen by my delinquent brother to pay for drugs. I don't even _have _a brother!"

"So I really don't know why you were offended."

"Well, when was the last time you cleaned a toilet?"

She tilted her head in mock consideration of the question, sitting back with a sigh, though she made sure to keep a tight hold of his hand. His thumb stroked gently over her knuckles.

"We're going to have to wait, you know, Mary. I'm not spending my wedding night in this blasted contraption."

Her eyes swept over him, a spark of heat flaring between them as she did. "No," she murmured, "I'd rather hope you wouldn't."

He licked his lips. "Actually, I don't particularly want to spend tonight like this either."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "I'd hate you to be uncomfortable, darling."

"I'm sure you would," he replied, his lips twitching.

For a moment they took each other in, no words being necessary, fingers shifting and interlocking with each other in a hidden dance of affection. Finally, she pulled herself to her feet, suppressing a yawn, and returned to her spot behind the chair. "Airports are dreadfully dull, aren't they?"

"Mmm, though I think we've really managed to exploit this one to the full."

"You do? We haven't tried even half the restaurants yet."

He twisted round to look at her. "Why, do you want a second dessert?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps I do. What do you think?"

Matthew took a deep breath, pretending to consider. "I think," he eventually concluded, "that we should exploit the room service option this time."

"Room service, dearest? I suppose we should take advantage while we're here..." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Exactly," Matthew replied, his voice dropping further. "They might even have strawberry tarts. You do still like strawberry tarts, don't you, my love?"

"Oh, don't get my hopes up!"

"Well," he added in a consolatory tone, "if they don't, I'll just have to make it up to you in another way."

She squeezed his shoulder and leaned forwards, her hair tickling his cheek and her breath hot on his ear. "So you shall."

Matthew swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again she had already turned the wheelchair and was pushing him back in the direction of the hotel.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed it all in one piece, however much it descended from the lofty heights of drama and injury to fluff and innuendo, and I'd love to hear your comments. :)_


End file.
